Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

The old man shook his head calmly, and with the smile still upon his lips, said, “Not at all. That was not my intention. Jest is necessary, but we should bear in mind that it is jest.”

“Is inspired creativity jest?” challenged Henfer.

“You call it inspiration and creativity,” said the philosopher dismissively. “I know it is the play of fantasy.”

Rhadopis looked at Heni, the architect, urging him to join in the fray, endeavoring to bring him out of his usual silence, but the man did not succumb to her temptation, not because he held that matter in question to be of little value, but because he believed, rightly or wrongly, that Hof did not mean what he was saying, and was teasing Henfer, and Ramon Hotep in particular, in his cruel manner. The poet, on the other hand, was greatly angered, and forgetting for a moment that he was in the palace of Biga, he addressed the philosopher in a spiteful tone: “If art is the play of fantasy then why are artists commissioned to do things they have not the capacity to achieve?”

“Because it demands of them to put aside the thought and logic they are used to and to seek refuge in a world of childhood and fantasy.”

The poet shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “Your words do not deserve a response,” he said.

“Amen,” said Henfer, and Heni smiled in agreement, but Ramon Hotep had grown impatient and his anger would not allow him to be silent. He glared at the mocking faces, and said vehemently, “Does not art create pleasure and beauty for you?”

“How trivial that is,” said Anin, who hardly knew what he was saying for the wine had fuddled his mind.

The poet was furious. He let the lotus flower fall from his hand. “What is wrong with these people?” he blurted out. “They do not understand the meaning of what they are saying. Is it possible that I can mention pleasure and beauty and be told that they are trivial things? Is there then no purpose in the world to pleasure and beauty?”

Henfer was pleased with his companion's words and a flush of excitement came over him. He leaned over to Rhadopis's ear. “Your beauty is true, Rhadopis,” he said. “Life passes like a swiftly unfolding dream. I remember, for example, how sad I was at my father's death, and how bitterly I wept. But now whenever his memory comes to me I ask myself, ‘Did this person really live upon the earth or was he just an illusion appearing to me in the twilight?’ That is life. What benefit accrues to the mighty and powerful from their achievements, what gains to those who produce wealth and riches? What have rulers acquired from their ruling and leading? Are not their achievements like dust scattered in the wind? Power could be folly, wisdom error, and wealth vanity. As for pleasure, it is pleasure, it can be nothing else. Everything that is not beauty is worthless.”

A grave look appeared on Rhadopis's enchanting face, and dreams glimmered in her eyes as she said, “Who knows, Henfer, perhaps pleasure and beauty are trivialities too. Do you not see how I live my life in gentle comfort, courting pleasure, enjoying goodness and beauty? And yet despite all that, how often I am dogged by boredom and dejection.”

Rhadopis could see that Ramon Hotep was in a bad mood, and as she considered Henfer's displeasure and Heni's silence, she was touched by their hurt, and feeling responsible, she decided it was time to change the subject. “Gentlemen, enough! Whatever you have said, you shall never cease to search out art and seek the company of artists. You love them, though you relish in attacking them. You would make happiness itself a subject of debate and controversy.”

Governor Ani had grown weary of the discussion. “Dispel the dissenters with one of your happy songs,” he suggested.

Everyone longed to listen and enjoy, and they were united in their vociferous support of the governor's request. Rhadopis agreed. She had had enough of conversation and she felt once again the strange apprehension that had come over her several times that day. She thought that a song or a dance would drive it away, and, stepping over to her throne, she summoned her songstresses, who came with drums, lyres, flutes, and a wang and pipes, and lined up behind her.

Rhadopis gave a signal with her ivory hand and all began to play a beautiful rhythm and a graceful beat, providing a gorgeous musical accompaniment to her melodious voice. The musicians softened the sounds of their instruments and they became like the whispers of starry-eyed lovers, as Rhadopis began to sing the ode of Ramon Hotep: